Silent Knight, Holy Knight
by MJTR
Summary: A Gotham gangster has his sights and payroll set on the treasures hidden within Saint Michael's Cathedral. Batman is forced to ally himself with the church's mysterious and silent guardian angel to unravel his plot and protect what is sacred. [[DCAU introduction of Cassandra Cain, and reimagining of the Angel of the Bat concept]]
1. Chapter 1

Silent Knight, Holy Knight

A Batman Fanfiction by MJTR

Author's Introduction: With 2019 about to come to a close and the third Angel of the Bat story still untold, I wanted to put out something a little different with this concept I've grown so close to. As evidence from this story's placement under the _Batman the Animated Series_ banner, I'm writing this as a reimaging of Cassandra and the Angel concept. While the main Angel stories are steeped in Batman comic lore, this one will be taking the more pragmatic, stripped-down approach Batman adaptations usually go for. Similar to _The New 52_ and _Rebirth_'s approach to certain legacy characters, I thought it would be interesting to skip over Cassie's time as Batgirl entirely and introduce her and a few members of the Angel supporting cast with their own histories together, outside of Batman. This is also not a retread of either of the previous Angel stories, but something I think would have fit into the animated series back in the day.

In that same spirit, I'm going to try my hand at writing this in the spirit of a Saturday morning cartoon meant for children. I'll be a lot lighter than previous Angel stories, I'm going to keep my filthy mouth in line, and the subject matter will be a fair deal simpler.

If you enjoy this piece and it's your introduction to the Angel of the Bat series, welcome, and I hope you enjoy yourself enough to check out some of my other works. If you're a returning fan, I'm very happy to have you along for this adventure. Let's proceed, shall we?

-000-

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been, heh, I dunno, ten, twenty years since my last confession?"

"Did you spend all night waiting to say that, Danny?"

"As a matter of fact, I did."

Marco Maroni breathed a sigh of contempt. He longed for the days he could have picked a fight with his would-be partner, Danny Falcone, but Gotham's major crime families had lost nearly all of their organization years ago. A pair of gimmickless gangsters like the two of them were lucky to even find work that didn't involve dressing up and swearing allegiance to one of the freaks. Even their latest employer insisted on sending them in with one of the weirdos for backup, but he was apparently too good to get involved in the lock-picking and initial slip inside Saint Michael's Cathedral. With black ski masks tight over their faces, they proceeded onward.

"I always hated churches at night," Marco said. The two had entered through a small door at the side of the cathedral that housed its administrative offices. With their path lit only by dim flashlights, Marco shuddered when his beam shined upon a statue of the Virgin Mary at the end of the hallway. "You know what I mean?"

"Aw, what, you afraid the holy mother's gonna sneak up behind us and bless you while you aren't looking?"

Marco forced down the impulse to shove Danny and kept moving toward the chapel proper. Even with only the faint glow to go off of, the flashlight hinted at the enormity and majesty of the cathedral. Dozens of rows of lacquered wood pews led down the aisles of the church, a baptismal font of holy water sat before a great, marble altar. And between a pair of brilliant blue stained glass windows that could shimmer even off of the weak light hung the Son of God from his massive cross. Danny gave all this only a token notice, but the sights made Marco want to bow his head in both shame and reverence. Again and again, he told himself they hadn't come for anything anyone was going to miss. The churchgoing public of Gotham had no idea what secrets lay beneath the hallowed halls, and the place would surely be just fine without the prize he and his cohorts were after. But no matter what apologetics he repeated to himself, Marco remained convinced: if there was ever a right reason to steal from a church, this wasn't it.

"Hey, choir boy, wake up."

Danny snapped his fingers in front of Marco's face and pulled him from his introspection. Marco shook his head and glared at his partner.

"Let's get a move on already. Big man said the passageway's over by the devotional."

As if it was triggered by the utterance of the word, a tiny orange light sprung to life in the alcove on the opposite side of the chapel. The sight of a small body as it lit a votive candle and set it before a statue of Saint Michael the Archangel made the blood of the two gangsters run cold. In Danny's case, however, the fear subsided quickly.

"Aye, kid, a little past your bedtime, isn't it?" The jest was a bit presumptuous. Even at the lowest age estimates, the body had to belong to someone beyond puberty. But that didn't change the fact that it probably didn't even come up to Danny's shoulders and looked to lack any discernable muscle mass.

"Can it," Marco said. "She might be security. Or she might at least have a phone."

"That scrawny little thing?" Danny laughed. "Yeah, right."

The figure at the devotional stood up straight and took two steps in their direction. Their comprehension of the body resolved itself, Marco and Danny were confident they looked upon a young woman. The firelight hinted at a bronzed complexion offset by the clothes of simple white cotton she wore. Over most of her face were secured what must have been breathable lines of bandages, though a little of her tied back black hair did peek out the sides.

"All right, let's take it easy now." Marco opened his jacket to show off the handgun holstered to his waist. "Don't try anything funny, kid. We just came for some goods, we're not looking for a fight."

The young woman in white took another step toward them, paused, and pointed at the front door of the cathedral.

"Is that silent act supposed to be intimidating?" Danny scoffed. "Why don't you come over here, girl, and see if you can even lay a finger on me. I promise I'll go easy on you."

Still, the one dressed in white only lowered her pointed finger for a moment so she could enunciate when she pointed again. Save for when Marco laid his hand upon his silenced pistol, none of them made a move. He didn't intend to shoot at an unarmed girl in a church, it was only an intimidation tactic. Danny, however, had other plans.

"All right, kid. Just remember we gave you a chance." Danny imitated Marco's gun grab.

"For God's sake, Danny, don't—"

Marco didn't want the kill of that child on his conscience and was prepared to talk his partner and the girl down. But none of that mattered. The one in white seemed to almost throw herself at Danny, her movements as fast and lithe as a ballerina. A kick into Danny's gut forced the air from his breath and made him relinquish his hold on the gun. The girl spun for momentum and punched him square in the face with enough force to knock him to the floor.

"What the heck was that?" Marco wasn't able to contain his shout as he reached for his gun, but his opponent had no trouble closing the distance between them. With hands open yet clenched tight, she threw a blitz of finger strikes into his body. A shout of pain escaped Marco's lips before his entire body went limp and crumbled.

Just before he hit the floor, he got a better look at the costume the young woman wore. In the center of her white shirt was what initially looked to be a crude assemblage of yellow cloth. As he fell against the ground and his vision came back into focus, he realized there was nothing crude about the design at all. Dozens of different shades were meticulously stitched together to give the appearance of stained glass and came together into an all too familiar, terrifying shape around a white cross.

"No way," he said. "The Bat wouldn't have someone out here, no way!"

The girl with the stained glass Bat symbol looked down at him for another moment, performed a sign of the cross, and turned on her heels. She'd sensed Danny had nearly reached his gun, stomped on his foot, and bent down for the finishing blow.

"No!" Danny struggled. "Oh please, no!"

The girl pulled him up high enough to deliver the same series of savagely effective blows to his chest, and Danny too fell into a heap on the ground. As Marco looked on, almost motionless with fear, he couldn't shake the thought this was no mere security guard they had picked a fight with: they'd angered the church's guardian angel.

The angel in white looked down at the two. As she contemplated how best she should move their unconscious forms, the echo of heavy footsteps moved through the chapel. She looked toward the hallway to the admin offices as out stepped a giant in a thick leather jacket and black mask. Completely unlike the balaclavas that covered Marco and Danny, his luchador mask did not obscure his identity but confirmed it.

"Quick, spirited little thing, aren't you?" Bane cracked his knuckles as he slowly closed the distance between them. "So what are you then, chica? A bat, or an angel?"

She held his stare as she again pointed toward the front door of the cathedral. Bane laughed and lunged at her. The waif dodged the brick wall of one of his fists and thrust her fingers into a series of strikes up his arm. But the padded leather of the giant's coat absorbed most of the impact and he wasted no time before he threw another punch. As Bane had observed, the child was a master of perception almost as if she possessed true clairvoyance. With her pressure point strikes temporarily ineffective, she weaved around one of his punches and threw a closed fist into the luchador's stomach. The force of the punch was enough to make Bane keel forward and utter a quick bark of pain. It felt as if there was more weight in that punch than the girl had in her entire body. With him temporarily thrown off, the girl grabbed ahold of the zipper of his jacket, yanked it down, and threw a dozen pressure point strikes into his uncovered chest. With the final blow, Bane fell backward and gasped in pain, his opponent, little more than a child, stood victorious over him.

Through grit teeth, the assassin said, "Such a prodigy you are." He slipped one hand into its opposite sleeve as the girl maintained eye contact. "Ready for round two?"

Without a look at what the giant was doing, she was unprepared when the giant jumped back to his feet and let out a roar. After a brief struggle, Bane threw off his jacket and the young woman got a good look at several translucent green tubes that ran down along his arms. As a fluorescent liquid flowed through them into his veins, the giant's already mighty muscles seemed to pulsate with the force of the drugs within. He rose, snarled and smirked all at once. The woman in white took a step backward in confusion. The giant closed the distance between them in a single bound and even the young woman's foresight wasn't enough to get her around his next enormous punch. The impact of the blow nearly threw the woman in white into the air and forced her back against the wall adjacent to the devotional.

Bane followed up with another punch, his opponent dodged the strike and his fist shattered a stone carving of Christ on his journey to Golgotha on the wall. The angel thrust several strikes into his pulsing arms, but though Bane shouted again it did nothing to slow his backhand. The strike knocked the angel to the floor and twisted what little of her face was visible with pain. The luchador did not let up, and though the angel outmaneuvered most of his strikes, any that did make contact shocked and shook her body to its core. And whatever damage her palm strikes, pressure point attacks, or kicks and punches did, nothing seemed to slow the giant for more than a moment. With her normal methods rendered ineffective, the angel retreated to the back of the church's entrance.

"Not so bold now, are you?" Just to mock her, Bane grabbed ahold of the wooden pew nearest to him, wrenched it from the floor, and flung it at the angel.

She dodged, but the impact shattered a stone statue of Mary and the child Christ, much to her chagrin. With reluctant acceptance she could defeat Bane by her normal means, the angel ran into a hallway on the vestibule's left. As the giant chased after her, he scowled when she reached a fire alarm and yanked it downward.

"Cobarde!" Bane scowled and briefly considered carrying on the fight anyway before he decided the advance he'd received wasn't worth a fight with the GCPD or worse. "I'll settle things with you another time." The giant retreated into the cathedral to ensure his allies didn't have a chance to prove how fickle their loyalties could be.

The angel, on the other hand, slipped into a nearby door into the underground maintenance rooms. The fire department arrived and decried a false flag. The Gotham City Police Department went inside in search of the prankster to found a pew torn out of the floor. But by all accounts at night's end, there was no one to be found.

"Even the churches now, even the churches." The tall, broad-shouldered detective, Harvey Bullock, nearly chomped the toothpick in his mouth in half. "No pun intended here, but isn't anything sacred?"

A whole head down from him, his partner, Detective Renee Montoya, didn't bother to look up from her notepad. "I'm not convinced the joke wasn't intentional, Harv."

Police Commissioner James Gordon uttered an exasperated sigh as he stepped between the two of them and pinched the bridge of his nose over his glasses. "Has anyone managed to get ahold of the minister yet? Or know anyone who would know if this place has any enemies or anything like that?"

Montoya uttered a chuckle. "It's a Catholic church, chief. It has enemies sprinkled across about two-thousand years."

Bullock raised an eyebrow. "You talking from personal experience there?"

"Not my enemy, just my traditionalist uncle I don't speak to anymore." As if it had become routine, Montoya turned to the commissioner. "Do you think there's someone here who might render a fourth opinion?"

Commissioner Gordon walked past her and Bullock without comment, came to a tall, thin staircase that noted it had roof access, and stepped into the shaft. The last few years of pursuits through burning wreckage and being thrown out windows by mad clowns had done a number on his body, Gordon had to concentrate to not slip into panting. But when he did arrive at one of the cathedral's lower bell towers, a crouched figure was there waiting for him. And despite the imposition that radiated off of it, it was no gargoyle.

"I take it you've already overheard our investigation." Gordon stepped up beside him. "What's your initial impression?"

The man at his opposite rose to his imposing full height. In his black cape and cowl, he seemed to almost blend with the night's darkness. The golden emblem that held a bat on his chest was the only light surface on his entire body. And his voice, resonant and deep, was a force all its own. "I haven't had a chance to conduct my own investigation, but did I hear right a church pew was pulled from the floor and thrown across the room?"

"That's what it looks like, yes."

"We have a heavy hitter on our hands," the Batman said. "Killer Croc, possibly Bane, but you didn't need me to tell you that."

"There's a fist indent in a stone carving down there, we figure there must have been a fight. But why here? What would anyone have wanted with this church?"

Batman narrowed his eyes as he looked down at the church. The motive for the fight only one of the things on his mind. No matter how he tried to isolate the thought, he couldn't help but wonder: who in that church had picked a fight with someone like Bane and lived to slip away?


	2. Chapter 2

[[Shocker, folks, I'm not dead and I'm not finished with this story yet. I've got a little over one month of the fifth year of Angel left, and since this was always intended to be a shorter piece, I figured I'd see if I could make it work anyhow. The revised edition of Da Pacem Domine will probably begin dropping on the 6th anniversary as well, just for consistency. Thank you for sticking by me at all these times my writing habits become so obnoxious.]]

The next morning, within moments of the church's opening, the phone in the largest of Saint Michael's administrative offices rang. The cathedral's priest, George Ryan, a portly, balding monsignor, took three different calls before he managed to write up a response for Judine, the office operator. The church wasn't going to comment on the damages until they'd had a chance to resolve impressions with their insurance agency. The same answer applied to anyone who sought to make a charitable donation for the repair. They did not currently know who had committed the act or why. When more comments were available, they would be released publicly. Thank you for calling, have a blessed day.

When this seemed to mollify his incoming calls, even temporarily, the old priest breathed a sigh of relief. Alongside his desktop computer, paperwork, and a few trinkets from his nieces and nephews, sat a white toy poodle. And upon seeing its master's early exhaustion, it plodded across the desk and held an endearing stare.

Father Ryan reached out and scratched the tiny dog behind one ear. "Fine mess we've come home to, huh Snowball?"

His dog leaned into the scratches and its curly tail beat against a few documents on the table. The priest didn't mind. There was plenty enough work to be done before the insurance agency and parish treasury got involved. There were weddings and baptisms to prepare, weekly confirmation and RCIA classes to rewrite lessons for, and many, many other matters. But all of them, he told himself, would wait just a little while as he gathered his wits with his furry friend.

A few minutes into his calm, the phone rang again. He'd hoped his secretary would divert all of his calls, but had instructed her to forward on anyone from the treasury or alert him if his niece Cassandra stopped in. Father Ryan sighed, wished his relaxation safe travels, and answered. "Yes, Judine?"

"Father Ryan? There's someone in to see you." There was a little giggle to her voice. "He insists it's very important and would be good for the church."

The monsignor rubbed at one of his eyes. "Are they on my approved list?"

"No, sir, but—"

"Media? Some new insurance broker?"

"It's Bruce Wayne." She broke out into another bout of chuckles. "You know, the millionaire."

In the background, he heard a resonant but amused voice advise her, "Billionaire, actually."

It took Father Ryan a moment to shake off the initial stun. Bruce Wayne? What was he doing there? Had he come to make a contribution to the church? Was he Catholic? The priest had never heard he was so. Was he just acting as a concerned citizen for the good of his city? And why had he arrived personally instead of sending someone in his stead? As he pondered each point, the priest tried to do the math in his head for what reaction would draw his church the most public attention. If he accepted Wayne's donation, the media would be all over it. If he sent Wayne away without speaking to him, that too could cause a fuss if the wealthy philanthropist complained he wasn't being appreciated. So, the father reluctantly accepted, it was best to meet with him before he declined the offer.

"I only have a few minutes, but go ahead, send him in."

Father Ryan pushed around a few documents on his desk and sat up straight as he could in a vain effort to look less disheveled. Snowball perked up when the door cracked open. The monsignor had never seen the billionaire in person, of course. And the priest was struck by his height and the build visible even under the brown suit he wore.

"Good morning, sir." He stuck out his hand. "Thank you for seeing me. I'm Bruce Wayne."

"Yes, of course." Father Ryan accepted the handshake. "Mr. Ryan, George, monsignor, you can call me whatever you'd like."

Bruce smiled at him before he cast a curious look at his desk. "Do you usually have a dog handling your paperwork?"

Father Ryan chuckled. "Little Snowball's more so here for office morale, I suppose. Please, have a seat. I haven't got long, expecting a call from the insurance company, but you're my guest for the moment."

"Yes, as you probably guessed that's why I'm here." Bruce pulled out the chair across from the priest's desk, laid his hands on top of it, and steepled his fingers. "Something about vandals and damage to a pew? Was anyone hurt?"

"I still don't have all of the details myself." It wasn't entirely true, but Father Ryan was still searching for a way to cut their conversation short. "If you don't mind me asking, Mr. Wayne, is there a particular reason my church has your attention? I may not always remember every face I encounter, but I think I can say confidently you aren't a member of my congregation."

"No, I'm just a concerned citizen who values his city's fine history," Bruce said. "This cathedral is over one hundred and fifty years old, and I just hate the thought of petty criminals making it fall into disrepair."

"Mmm, don't we all." In the middle of a nod, the priest's phone rang. "Excuse me a moment." He answered it. "Yes? Ah, good. I'll be done in just a few minutes and then you can send her in, thank you." After he'd hung up the phone, Father Ryan set his hands on the desk with his fingers crossed together. "My niece just arrived and we had a prior arrangement. I really do appreciate what I think you've come here to do Mr. Wayne, but the Catholic Church and Saint Michael's aren't exactly wanting for funds right now. It simply seems to me your charity work would be better spent elsewhere. My sister, for instance, runs this group home for struggling children."

Bruce tried to conceal his reaction, but his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "That's not something I hear very often, sir." As a philanthropist for as long as he'd had access to his inheritance, Bruce knew of only a few occasions any social program had ever turned down an offer, no matter how well it was fairing. And when they did, it usually inevitably turned out they had something to hide.

"At the very least it's a conversation that should really wait until after the damages have been assessed." Father Ryan gave his little dog another scratch behind the ear and stood up. "You can leave a business card with my secretary, if you have one. My desk it a bit cluttered at the moment, as you can see. I'm sorry to cut this conversation short, but as I said, my niece is waiting for me."

"There was just one other thing I was hoping I could ask about."

The priest did his best to contain a sigh. "Yes?"

"There was a rumor that someone else was spotted here last night. Someone who attacked the intruders, maybe even some kind of protector?"

Tiredness pulled the priest's face downward. "I can't speak to that, Mr. Wayne. This is a church, churches are entrusted to the protection of forces on high. Or, by all anyone can say, that may have been the Batman. Or just a public with too much free time on its hands." He stepped over to the door and opened it for Bruce. "I'd advise you not put too much stock into hearsay."

Bruce didn't have an exact reason to put to the behavior, but he mentally filed Father Ryan's reactions to him as both defensive and suspicious. Still, as requested, he rose from his seat and made for the door. Judine the secretary moved the phone away from her head long enough to wish him a good rest of his day. On one of the seats across from her an Asian teenager sat with her head leaned back against the wall and her eyes shut as if she was taking a nap. Bruce heard, "Cassandra, you can go in now," just before he stepped out of earshot.

That evening, in the underground beneath Wayne Manor, Bruce unpacked all his suspicions with Alfred, his ever-loyal butler and confidant.

"With respect, Master Wayne, are you quite sure denial of your generosity is grounds for suspicion? As he pointed out, it's not as if the church couldn't afford to pay for it themselves."

"In my experience, charity is only rejected when people have something to hide," Bruce spoke from the other side of a changing screen. "The priest was nervous, he was trying everything in his power to hold control over our conversation. He probably wouldn't have seen me in the first place, but that might have brought him even more unwanted publicity."

"The church has had its share of scandals well apart from your enemies ripping pews out of the floor," Alfred said. "This may not be a good time to have any extra attention brought on, with or without your reputation."

"No, I think he has something to hide." Bruce stepped out from beyond the screen, dressed in his nightly uniform save for his cape and cowl. "And whoever was protecting the church was strong enough to face a real force of nature without finding himself knocked out on the floor. That's one more mystery I intend to solve tonight."

The butler sighed and shook his head. "Watch out for yourself out there, Master Wayne. Even if it is the one who chased off the attackers waiting for you last night waiting for you, you may well be considered another intruder in their eyes."

"I think Saint Michael's guardian angel and I want the same thing. And if we don't, well I'll be ready to deal with him."


End file.
